Inevitable
by Saphrona Attecombe
Summary: John/Zoe pairing, especially for KSPretenderFan! Also, all you other John/Zoe fans; please R&R, and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Especially for all you John/Zoe shippers; KSPretenderFan, for you first and foremost! I may have another one or two of these up my sleeve. PLEASE all R&R! Most of all, enjoy!

Inevitable

I sighed, closed the lid of my laptop and slid it to the back of the desk. _Finally_ finished with that last job! I flicked a glance at my watch, decided I had enough time to log a few miles before dark.

I stood, headed to the bedroom to change into some comfy running gear, then slipped into the bathroom to pull my hair into a braid so it wouldn't annoy me while I ran. I gave my face a cursory glance, to be sure I wasn't wearing much makeup, which would melt and make me look like a raccoon. _Vanity, thy name is Zoe_, I admitted. I also made sure I wasn't wearing any jewelry which might tempt some jerk to make a grab for me. Smiled ruefully, thought,

'I should see if Reese is a runner. Then I wouldn't have to worry.' I gave a chuckle as I finished off the braid, secured it with a scrunchie, said, aloud, a sharp snap of irony,

'Yeah, right. Zoe Morgan, calling up some guy to escort her on a run.' Well, not just some guy, but a guy I was really hot for, and the reason I felt strongly compelled to go for a hard run. Men could swear by cold showers, I swore by a brutal run. I shook my head, grabbed a small bottle of pepper spray on a cord from where it was hanging on the hook behind the door, slung it around my neck, and tucked it beneath my sweatshirt. Pulled on a headband, queued up running music on my phone, and put in ear buds, laced on my sneakers, grabbed my key, was out the door.

At the foot of the stairs, I tossed a glance both directions, made a quick decision which way to head, and was off. I fell into rhythm within half a mile, hit the zone, and gave my mind freedom to wander as I made my way along the street. As per usual, my thoughts swiftly switched to my favorite obsession.

John Reese. Of course, not his real name. What was it? Jason? Mark? _Michael?_ I drew an extra deep breath, exhaled, pretended to ignore the tingle of excitement just thinking about John raised. My feet slapped out a perfect beat as I ran on, found myself checking the faces of the people I passed, hoping that each one was him. He could be anywhere; I'd seen him all over the city, so I had no idea where his home turf was. I had a little thrill of excitement, each time my phone rang, hoping it was John, or Harold, calling me in to help with one of their 'projects'. I followed the stories on the news, in the papers, readily identifying the ones that had the earmarks of John and Harold's work.

Always bodies involved. That bothered me, more than a little. Not because scumbags were getting well-deserved retribution, but because retaliation, and self-defense, could exact a high toll from my Dynamic Duo.

Yes, well. I admit it, I am also rather fond of quirky little Harold, and his endearing obliviousness. I frequently wished he'd meet some sweet bookworm of a girl. Maybe selfishly, because then John might have more free time. Time I could use to my advantage, time to really figure out how to get that man into my life, and my bed.

Yow. Mind sweep. That line of thought just made me frustrated, with no sign of relief on the horizon. I couldn't even get him to freakin' _call _me. Scowling, I bumped up my pace, turned up my tunes, and tried, really hard, to not think about John Reese.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapped my head and body in plush, heated towels. Nothing like a long, hot shower to help erase the soreness of a long workout. And, nothing like a long, hard workout to knock down the level of frustration I felt at being unable to snare John. I hoped the run and shower might also help me sleep a bit easier, especially since I'd be sleeping alone. As usual. I snorted, irritably, then sighed, tried to put it all out of my mind. Better check my messages.

Damn, where did I leave my phone? I looked in the pockets of my sweats, under the shirt slung on the countertop, nowhere. Must've laid it on the end table as I'd come in.

As I stepped into the dark living room, someone grabbed me from behind, jerked me sharply against their chest, one arm around my waist, the other covering my mouth. I gave a startled, muffled squeal, then jabbed blindly toward my captor's eyes, tried, in vain, to stomp his foot, but mine, bare, were ineffective. Terrified, a million thoughts raced thru my head; how had someone gotten in here? Why? Who? What did they want? Murderer? Rapist? Angry client? How am I going to get away?

I writhed, loosing the towel from my hair, twisted madly against the steel grip holding me, but it didn't loosen.

I bared teeth, bit the palm over my face, hard. My captor flinched, grunted in pain, but still didn't lessen his grip. Instead, a familiar voice said, in my ear,

'Zoe! Zoe, it's me!' and let his hand free from around my mouth to switch the lights on. I froze, left off my frenzied thrashing, and looked back over my shoulder. I said, breathless surprise,

'John.'

His grip relaxed, let me go, and I jerked a few steps away, so I could face him. With a look of chagrin, he picked my hair towel from the floor, extended it toward me with an apologetic smile. I stared at him a few seconds, before jerking it from his hand, tossing it across my shoulder.

To my unspoken accusations, he offered,

'I thought we might have that drink,' and held up a bottle of 20 year old scotch, as if that made everything all right.

'You could've called,' I snarled, shakily, self-consciously adjusting my body towel higher, shoving wet hair out of my face. I was trembling, from anger, and fear, heart pounding loudly, my knees barely holding me upright. A moment of embarrassment crossed his face, quickly covered, as he replied, with a shrug, setting the bottle down,

'I did. When you didn't answer…well, I got worried.' I glared at him, my anger now drowning out my fright.

' I was in the shower,' I snapped, completely furious, and managing to ignore the fact that I was standing, wearing only a towel, in the same room with the man I'd been fantasizing about since we'd first met. He met my angry eyes, his tone deadpan as he rationalized,

'You were in there a long time.' I yanked the hair towel off my shoulder, snapped it at him like a whip, informed,

' It's none of your business, how long I spend in the shower!' He dodged, easily, eyes crinkling as he smiled, chuckled,

'At least I know you can put up a fight.' He leaned closer, winked,

'Holding on to you is like trying to hold on to a bag of bobcats.'

I stared at him, completely unable to come up with a reply to that particular comparison. I huffed, angrily, snapped the towel toward him, again; he caught it, held tight, met my angry glare, asked,

'It was kind of exciting, though, right? Getting grabbed?' His gorgeous eyes, with their plush lashes, flashed with excitement as they met mine, his smile was leisurely and seductive. My heart flopped in my chest, and this time, it had nothing to do with fear. I opened my mouth to deny it, closed it without replying, and let go of the towel. Felt myself smiling as I tucked wet strands of hair behind my ears.

'Been looking for an excuse, to grab me?' I taunted, my normal confidence returning. His smile never faltered, and he took the towel into both hands, stepped in close, and looped it gently around my neck.

'Not an excuse, an opportunity,' he admitted, softly, using the towel to pull me close, but not quite touching. Only a breath separated us, and I found myself lost in his calm blue gaze. His fingers left go of the towel, moved to brush a few unruly strands of hair off my face, rest on my bare shoulders, his smile the warmest expression I'd ever seen him wear. I gave him a slow, easy smile, said,

'Was there….anything else….you wanted to grab, while you were here?' I shrugged, moved slightly away, to reach for the bottle of whiskey he'd left setting on the end table, as I loosed my body towel, so it sagged a bit, allowed quite a lot, but not all, of my chest to show. I kept it covering me with one hand, but that wasn't going to last long.

'I mean, besides the drink?' I whispered, drawing a deep breath over a fierce rush of desire. His jaw tightened, gaze sharpening. John wasn't a man who should be teased, but I wanted to. I wanted to torture him, make him crazy for me.

Apparently, that wasn't going to be hard.

He took a sudden step, stripped the towel away, a quick, smooth pull.

I let him, reveling in the sounds of our racing breaths, mingling in the otherwise quiet room.

'Inevitable,' he groaned, gently, his gaze roaming my body as if he already had his hands on me. At the query on my face, he sighed,

'From the moment I saw you, I knew it was inevitable. I had to be with you.'

'Then, why wait, one more moment?' I sighed, melting into his arms, and he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Allright! Due to high demand from several of my reviewers, I decided to try my hand at 'a little something' rather than imagination. Chapter One was Zoe first person; I'll throw you all a curve, and I make THIS chapter JOHN first person.

As always, PLEASE R&R. I plan to add 1 more Ch to this story, and hope to come up with a few more. Thanks for pushing me to go for it, KSPretenderFan, LanaJoy and Dragonswife, along with you others.

Enjoy!

Two

I guess it goes without saying, that you learn a lot when you work for the CIA. Skills, physical, as well as mental. Some, it would seem, to the uninitiated, are more vital to survival than others. One particular skill that we were endlessly schooled in might seem to be one less connected to life and death than, say, combat training, but was actually of vital importance; the ability to conceal one's thoughts and emotions, keep them from reaching your face, while being able to read the emotions of others. A flash of fear, or doubt, shown to the wrong person, could be a death sentence.

I knew a few agents that were brutal experts, manipulating others by use of facial expressions, and by reading them. One of them was Kara Stanton, my handler. She could look at a person with an expression which appeared to be compassion, affection, then, with their guard down, she'd put two bullets in their head.

I had never been that polished, and since 'retiring', I imagined I now allowed a bit more emotion to touch my face. Especially when dealing with Harold, and Zoe, because I was fond of them both. I wasn't always sure that was a good thing, but I hoped it was good enough. I hoped Zoe would see the truth that was in my heart, written on my face.

She reminded me of my precious Jessica; the same bold cheekbones, the same molten brown eyes, but, Jessica was gone, and Zoe was….well, _Zoe. _I'd watched her on her run, today, because I worried; worried that, since she had been affiliated with Harold and I, that someone would know, someone would go after her, to get to us. But, as I followed her, I realized she was every bit as tough and competent as she appeared. Every move she made was pure confidence, which was the exact aura one needed to warn off trouble.

I sighed, resigned, as she returned home, up the steps, disappeared from view.

Idiot. She was always reminding me I had her number, that all I had to do was call. I realized my fingers were tapping a frustrated tempo on the steering wheel, and my subconscious mind had been involved in thinking about something more than pretending to be concerned for her safety. The swing of her braid, the mesmerizing sway of her hips, the rosy flush of her cheeks….those observations had nothing to do with being certain she was safe.

Damn. I shifted in the car seat, uncomfortably, wondering why I'd been so stupid. Torturing myself, watching her, wanting her, but never taking that dangerous step…of trusting her.

This was crazy. We were both adults, and she obviously had eyes for me. I pulled up my cell phone, began to dial her, then tapped it off; I needed a reason, an excuse, to call, right? That's how it works.

A drink. Yes, that was it. She reminded me of that, more than once. An invitation, but, to what, exactly?

Only one way to find out. First, I needed to buy a really old bottle of scotch.

After her phone kicked me to voicemail the third time, I was getting annoyed. Was she ignoring me? Was something wrong? I decided on the direct approach; my frustration level was rising, rapidly, and when that happened, I needed to act.

When I got into her flat, heard the shower running, it calmed me.

I heard the water shut off, so I waited. I don't really know why I didn't leave, go outside to knock, or turn on the lights, or just call her, again.

She barely missed a beat, despite me scaring the crap out of her when I grabbed her from the darkness. She could've kicked my ass out the door, probably should've, actually…I did have the unfair advantage, being much more able to read her expressions, but, then, she never tried to hide, from me. Fear, flashing anger, folding seamlessly into a siren's call, faster than I could have imagined.

I'd be lying if I said that, when I broke in to Zoe's loft, that I didn't hope the visit to end with me, in her bed. I just hadn't been exactly sure how, or if, it would play out.

I certainly had never imagined it…like _this._ Zoe, bold and naked, breasts pressed firmly against my chest, face turned up to mine, lips curved into a delicious challenge. Being naked didn't bother her one bit. I could smell her, hair a citrus tang, fresh as spring, her body was roses, warm as the sun. Beneath my hands, she was lithe and muscular, a runner's body, but soft and curved where she should be. As my hands wandered, she moaned, softly, eyes falling shut, and her full weight leaned against me, one arm draping around my neck.

Damn.

She sighed, lips parted, eyes fluttering open to study my face. Her fingers traced my cheek, down my jaw, across my lips, a mesmerizing journey of sensation. Her eyes, burning with desire, met mine, locked. Then she shifted away, and I let her, to be sure she didn't feel as if I was going to force her to remain close, though I had absolutely no inclination to let her go.

She waved the whiskey bottle at me, coyly, twisted the cap free.

'No glasses?' she teased, caressing the neck of the bottle with her tongue as she took a sip, set the bottle down, then leaned those lips toward mine. Slowly, I bent down, met her kiss, and shared the smoky, smooth bite of the scotch straight from her mouth.

_Damn. _I couldn't ignore the ache any longer. I caught around her waist, ground her against me, desperate to feel her along every inch of my body. She melded to me, a jolt of electricity. Offered me another kiss, smoldering, breathed a gasp as my mouth burned kisses along her jaw, her delicious throat, then lower. I vaguely realized she'd led me into her bedroom, to stand close by her white linen covered bed. She gave a sharp growl, reached toward me, latched onto my shirt and gave a vicious yank, sending buttons flying, and allowing her hands to slide along my skin.

'That was an expensive shirt,' I told her, a hitch in my breath, and her eyes met mine, flashing, as her hands did unbelievable things.

'Good choice of words,' she purred, '_Was._ I'll buy you a new one.'

She leaned away, warned, in a husky growl,

'I can't say I'll do the same for anything else you force me to remove.' I actually didn't care if she tore off every shred of clothing I wore, but I heeded her warning, with her velvet hands caressing every inch of the way.

Then we were on the bed, her hair in my face, strong thighs against mine, nails raking my chest . Head reeling with desire, left too long unanswered, I rolled, brought her beneath me. The sound she made, with every breath she took, sent me straight to heaven, and honestly, from that moment on, I was lost, in Zoe.

I sighed, tightened my arm around Zoe, snugged contentedly against my side, head on my chest, and smoothed her hair off her face. She smiled, sleepily, murmured,

'Again?' I gave a soft chuckle, kissed to top of her head. She sat up, enough to study my face, a serene smile warming her features. She was gorgeous, hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, cheeks still flushed with passion. She leaned up, offered a leisurely kiss, which I happily returned. There was no regret on her face, and I certainly hoped there was none on mine.

'Inevitable,' she sighed, against my lips, then cuddled back against my chest, and slid into the realms of sleep. Within moments, I joined her.


	3. Chapter 3

I decided to finish this short with a POV from Finch! Let me know what you think, girls. Sorry it took so long!

Three

I squinted, held the paper under brighter light, adjusted my glasses, to no avail. I simply could not decipher Reese's handwriting.

'Well, that's annoying,' I muttered, to the dark room, gave an irritated sigh. I was attempting to finish entering the details concerning our last number, which Mr. Reese had recorded, but I was unable to read. Admittedly, I was being anal retentive, stubbornly refusing to shut down for the night until I'd finished journaling. It wasn't essential, not really. It could wait until tomorrow, but, leaving things unfinished was not part of how I preferred to operate. I would likely have other, more pressing, concerns then, when we received a new number.

I glanced at my watch; it was rather late to call Reese. Perhaps he was asleep, or relaxing over a quiet meal, and I was loathe to deny him either option. Quite regularly he was forced to forego both, in deference to our work. I decided to open the line to his phone for a brief listen, as I should be able to determine whether or not he was available to translate his perpetually illegible documentation. If I heard only silence, he was most likely asleep, if there was even slight background noise, at a restaurant, and therefore available.

When I opened the line, I heard moaning. Confused, I turned the volume up slightly, uncertain if that's what it really was. A second later, the moans turned into a woman's scream. It pulled me to my feet, startled, grabbing for my coat and car keys, cueing up the GPS that would give me directions to assist Reese.

Then I realized several things, all at once; first, the location of Reese's phone. I immediately recognized the address; Zoe Morgan's home. The sound didn't quite carry the tone I expected, and then I understood it was not a scream of fear, but… something altogether different.

When the second scream came, I knew what I was hearing. A scream of passion.

Oh, dear. I immediately closed the line, but had already been presented with an uncomfortable mental image.

I sat down rather more abruptly than I intended, jarring my spine painfully, pulling a wince from my face. Adjusted my glasses, felt my face was very, very red. Amazing what a few seconds of sound could do to one's composure.

Well. So much for finishing up my journaling. I gave the complaining muscles in my back several seconds to relax, while I made a vain attempt to pretend I hadn't heard what I'd heard. Deliberate or not, I had still been guilty of intruding at an incredibly inappropriate time. I was absolutely certain my incentive to continue working was not going to return any time soon, so I tapped the computer asleep, snapped off the lights, and made my way from the Library, toward my own lonely bed. I determined to make every effort to clear my turbulent thoughts on that journey.

It was a real surprise when I arrived at the Library the next morning to find John already lounging in his favorite chair, feet up, sipping coffee. A cup of tea and box of donuts waited my attention on the table alongside Reese. A relaxed smile touched his face as he greeted,

'Good morning, Harold.' I hesitated, briefly, before entering the room, to ensure my expression did not betray me. I decided it was easiest to not meet his eyes, so I shuffled to the coat rack, said,

'I admit, I'm somewhat surprised to see you here, so early, Mr. Reese,' then realized that was a terrible opening. As I turned around, met his puzzled expression, he asked, innocently,

'Why is that?' Hoping I was keeping my face blank, I moved to select a donut, pick up my tea before responding,

'Since I hadn't called to notify you we had a number, I thought perhaps you would enjoy some extra rest. Our schedule has been overly demanding lately.'

'Do we? Have a new number?' Reese questioned, feet coming to the floor. I took a breath before turning, headed toward my chair, nodding.

'Yes. I also require you to translate your notes from yesterday, so I can finish the file, before opening this new one,' I informed him, a hint of annoyance to my words.

Reese came to stand, leaning over my left shoulder as I lifted the notes to his grasp.

'You should've called,' Reese said, looking at his scribbles with an amused smile.

'I didn't wish to disturb Ms. Morgan, should she be sleeping,' I replied, before I could stop myself. Behind me, I heard Reese's breathing change, and his posture stiffened.

'What?' he managed, in a strangely strangled tone.

Well, no escaping now. I straightened my glasses, glanced back to see the confused mix of emotions on his face, struggling to keep my own expression blank and businesslike.

'I intended to contact you, last evening. When I checked the GPS position of your phone…' I shrugged, turned back to my keyboard, hoping he wouldn't hear what I hadn't admitted. If he was angry, it couldn't be helped. To cover my own discomfiture, I began typing as I said,

'Ms. Morgan does bear a strong physical resemblance to… one of your past acquaintances. From the onset of our partnership with her, I realized there was a very high probability of you two becoming involved.' I risked a look at Reese, apprehensively, fearing I would see anger. Instead, I saw a rather bemused confusion, so I felt it safe to add,

'Actually, I believe, it was inevitable.' A laugh escaped Reese, and he shook his head, laid a friendly hand to my shoulder.

'So do I, Finch. So do I.'


End file.
